The one True King
by Winged Lady Colette
Summary: Noctis did it. He completed his destiny as the True King and brought back the light. But his job isn't done there. A friend brings him back to the beginning. Time Travel.
1. Moved

**Author's Note: I know. I'm sorry. I love them so much and my heart is in so much pain for this story and these people! I just need to heal my wounds by writing about my pain. I know that I don't need to have more stories to write but I couldn't just keep this to myself any longer! Don't hate me! Let me know what you think! Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

 **Warnings: A bit of gore, talk about death, OOCness and unbeta'd.**

 **Word Count: 4,566**

All his life, the little part in the back of Noctis's mind always thought that he was never going to be good enough to be King. It seemed like everything was always stacked against him, all of his life. He wasn't meant to be alive, the dark little voice in the back of his mind had always told him. He was weak as a small child, irresponsible as a teenager and set up to fail as a young man. He was never quite good enough. Quite smart enough. Quite strong enough. Quite brave enough. Of everything that he was, 'enough' wasn't it.

King Regis was a difficult man to live up to. He was both well beloved and well feared. Those that loved him, felt the veil of protection around them without a doubt, those that feared him, knew to because of the love and loyalty of the people around him. He knew people. He was good at dealing with people. People - around Noctis's age - would be intimidated by the Prince. Noctis doesn't know how it was when his father was a boy, but it was hard for Noctis. People knew who he was and what he would one day be, and so they would keep their distance. "Admire" him from a far, Ignis had said, to try and make him feel better.

It didn't. It just made him feel more lonely. More isolated.

But he had Ignis, and Gladio. They were his friends. His advisor and his shield. But mostly his friends. He was thankful to have them. But they were both older than him, so he had to go through school on his own.

People didn't ignore him. That just doesn't logically happen in real life. People are cordial, friendly enough. He would talk to his classmates, do work assignments with them or listen in on a conversation and join in. He had acquaintances. But no friends at school.

But the worries of school; how he looks, who he hangs with, what people think of him, studying for tests and quizzes, and trying not to sleep or daydream his day away. But his problems reside in what comes after school. Training to take his father's place. Learning how to be a King and protect himself and others. Learning about how to lead a country and it's people. How to be the man, and King, that his people need to be.

His father and he were never close. They spent time together when he was a kid. And they would speak a few times a week, but his father was always busy, always speaking to someone about something. It was only in the rare trips as a child that he was able to really spend time with his father. Those times were the best. Sure, he was sick all the time and was mostly confined to his wheelchair after the accident. Well, sick isn't a good word, but it helps curve the thoughts of what really happened that day.

Marilith. His attendant dying. His own injuries. The fear. The pain. His father fighting it off.

Carbuncle. His little friend. The one who looked out for him. Helped him be strong. Given, Carbuncle was only in his dreams - and sometimes in pictures that Prompto took during their journey? - but when he was down on his last leg, listening to his friends fighting the monsters around them. They would yell his name and go rushing to his side, immediately, to help him usually. But once in a blue moon, they are held up and before Noctis can completely black out, he would hear a sweet little cry of glee from Carbuncle in his mind, and he felt his strength return to him.

It was never something he could explain and Carbuncle was never there outside of his dreams, but he would see the little fox-like creature in pictures that Prompto takes, but no one else ever saw him.

Isolated and scared, as a child that was confined to a wheelchair after he awoke from his coma, there was always a restlessness to Noctis. He wanted to be able to make people proud of him. He wanted to live up to the expectation of his people and his father, but as he got older, he started to realize that maybe his father didn't really see a prince in him.

Sure, Noctis had advisors and duties, but he didn't really feel like his father expected much of him. He mostly let Noctis do whatever he liked. He let Noctis speak to him however he liked and walk about and represent himself however he liked. Noctis even convinced his father to let him live in an apartment away from the palace, by himself.

Noctis wanted freedom. He wanted individuality. But most of all, he wanted to get away from the eyes of people who didn't understand him. Who didn't think that he would be good enough. He just wanted to be able to be himself in his own space and not have to worry about someone walking in on him - well, except for maybe Ignis.

Loyal, faithful, wonderful Ignis would be there sometimes to clean up and make his meals for him. No one made meals as good as Ignis. No one knew Noctis's taste buds as well as Ignis. No one let him get away with nearly as much as Ignis. Except for his father, maybe.

Noctis wasn't perfect, sure, but his father would stare at him sadly, as if he simply wasn't able to do anything to his father's satisfaction. King Regis always looked at him sadly. It weighed heavily on Noctis. He was never going to be good enough. Noctis was too ashamed to ask him exactly what it was about himself that displeased his father, but it was always settled on his shoulders. Every time he saw his father, he would feel that weight return to his shoulders. Then he began to avoid his father.

Noctis regrets that now. Years later.

He sits upon the throne that his father once occupied, staring at the brightly lit forms of the Lucien kings of the past. He closes his eyes for a moment and imagines his precious people. The people that he met along the way of his journey, those that he met earlier in his life and lost. Those that stuck with him to the end. Those that were only cliff notes in his life, but were precious to him nonetheless.

His three best friends. Ignis, Prompto and even Gladio.

Ignis, his advisor, his ally, his caretaker.

Prompto, his best friend, his confidant, his rock.

And Gladio, his shield, his teacher, his moral compass.

But even people like Tabolt, Iris, Lunafreya, Jarred.

He was twenty years old. So what if she slept for ten years, his mind and soul were only twenty years old. And at twenty, he was ready to die. Not in some melodramatic, couldn't take the pain or didn't know where to turn, sort of thing. He was ready to die because he needed to die. If his death brought peace to his kingdom, then maybe he would be a terrible King like he always feared that he would be. His first and last act as King would be to save everyone. Even if he would never be beloved by his people, nor would people sing his praises, but at least they would live.

He may be the last of his bloodline, but maybe that was okay. Maybe the time for Lucis and it's Kings was to come to an end. Why else would the Crystal demand his death and the end of his bloodline if it wasn't because they served their purpose?

At least, Noctis didn't have to worry about ruining everything his father built. The Empire did that, but at least the people would be able to build it up from the ashes. Noctis had faith in his friends and his people. He may not always know what's best, but he seemed to have always surrounded himself by the people that did. It was his saving grace all these years.

In his final moments, as each strike from the Kings before him became more to bear than the one that proceeded it, his father's visage - a ghostly imagine that stood by his side - couldn't bear to look at him. Young, teenage, ignorant Noctis would have thought it was shame in Noctis that turned the Kings eyes away from him, but in this moment, Noctis understood.

It was his father's shame in himself and his pain, that makes him unable to look at Noctis. He can't see his son die like this. He can't bear to look at Noctis.

As silly as it was, after all of these years, Noctis is still trying to live up to image of his father. He knew he had to be strong. He knew what he had to do, and if he was weak, his father wouldn't help him complete his one and only reason for living: dying for his people. His father wouldn't be able to deliver the final blow that would end Noctis's life.

For once in his life, if Noctis wasn't strong, his father wouldn't be.

"Dad," Noctis winces, looking over at the wrath-like visage of his father, "trust me." Trust me to not mess up. Trust me not to fail. Trust me to do what I was meant to. Trust me to die.

Noctis has never seen his father appear to be in so much pain.

Noctis was ready to die, because he had to be. He couldn't screw up the only real thing he's going to do as King. It's the easiest thing in the world for him to be able to do as King. Was to die.

His father's sword being plunged into his chest threw him into blackness. All the agony of his heart, spirit and body faded away slowly at first, then all at once.

* * *

It was a cruel joke.

The cruelest of all jokes. There he sit, like the pompous, privileged prince he always was. His face was loose and peaceful, not showing any of the pain that his body had to of endured before the final sword - the one that belong to his father - rests now sticking out of his chest. All of the color has drained from his face as his lap and the floor around the throne is coated in his blood.

It's still fresh and shimmering in the growing light as the sun finally peaks through the dark clouds. The rays dance around his head like a halo, and King Regis's sword glitters.

Somehow, the horrible, painful scene was beautiful.

He spent the last ten years sleeping yet the bags and dark circles under his eyes showed it was not restful. His death seems to have brought him a degree of peace to him. His face looks rested, even though his eyes will never open again. Even his eyelids were loosing the purple painted across them from lack of proper rest, and the lines of a tough life smoothed out.

"Noct..." Prompto whispers, feeling his heart be pulled from his chest. Excluding the sword protruding from his chest, Noctis just looks like he's sleeping.

"Is... he...?" Ignis asks, stepping up next to Prompto, his eyes unseeing. "I... can feel... heat. The sun? I faintly... see a light." And he could. Through the thick haze of darkness, there was a dim light, turning the black of his vision, gray.

"You will never hear me say this again," Gladio says, voice rough with unspoken emotion. "But I'm envious of your blindness, Ignis. What I wouldn't give to never see this image again."

Ignis swallows. He's not so sure about that. Seeing has to be better than imagining it.

Then again, Ignis isn't sure he wouldn't break down at the sight of his beloved Prince and friend, lifeless, dead-eyed and gone.

Something hits the ground next to Ignis and soft whimpering. Shoes scuff behind him. "Prompto..." Gladio groans. "Don't be like that." He forces his voice to be strong, but Ignis can hear it wavering. Even strong, unshakable Gladiolous can deny the pain that losing Noctis brought all of them. Ignis is having a tough time breathing, horrible imagines in his mind's eye because his own eyes cannot see it.

"Why did he have to chose the picture of all of us?" Prompto asks, voice pitching in pain.

"Which one did he pick?" Ignis asks, realizing he never asked.

"It was with everyone, before we left for Altissa," Gladio says. "It's on the throne next to him, his left hand is resting on it, I think..."

Ignis feels his lips tremble a bit as Prompto lets out a moan of agony, trying not to imagine the scene before him, but he has to ask, "Does he look like he's in pain?" He wants something else to pull away the pained, dead look that is on Noctis's face. He doesn't know what older Noctis looks like. All he can see in his mind's eye is young, nineteen year old Noctis.

"No," Gladio says, before roughly clearing his throat. "No. He looks... peaceful..."

That doesn't exactly make him feel any better. He doesn't know what peaceful Noctis looks like. It seems like there was always something that was troubling him. Ignis can't really remember if he's ever seen a peaceful looking Noctis. He's known Noctis since he was just a little boy, yet there always appeared to be something that was bothering him. Why can't he imagine a peaceful looking Noctis? Why can't the last image of Noctis, while his beloved Prince is in the room with him, be of the peaceful image that Gladio can see, yet is somehow so terrible he wished he couldn't?

"How?" Ignis asks, his voice thick with emotion. "How can he look peaceful? How does he look peaceful? What does that look like?"

"Iggy..." Gladio says softly, reaching out to put a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Iggy, I-"

"Do you remember..." Prompto says slowly, sniffling loudly. "Do you remember when the Regalia broke down, and we had to push it all the way to Cid's shop? Do you remember after we cooled down and finally piled back into the car? Noctis laid his head back and closed his eyes with this look on his face. He was tired, exhausted from the hard work, but seemed... okay? Not happy. Not relieved. But... okay?"

Yes. Ignis does remember that. The image appears in his mind's eye and this tiny sense of relief washes over him. He can see Noctis, tired, freshly showered thanks to Cindy and Cid's generosity, in the seat behind him. He wasn't happy. He was certainly tired, but he was okay. He was relaxed and the lines that were slowly forming around his eyebrows were smooth. His eyes were closed and his face was smooth. The sun was shining off his dark hair, turning his somewhat pale skin a nice golden color. The gentle breeze pulling a bit at the long strands of his hair. He had stopped moving around, already falling asleep.

A peaceful, somewhat easy time.

At the moment, Ignis hated that the Regalia broke down, because they were having to push it in the smoldering heat. It was a pain, and Ignis hated it, but looking back on that moment, Ignis loved it, and missed it. He was trying to get the car started while Prompto, Gladio and Noctis pushed the car down the street. They were laughing and joking and groaning about their plight, but it was okay. It wasn't anything terrible, or horrible, or gut-wrenching. It was annoying, and a pain. But that's it.

"Do you... remember that... Iggy?" Prompto asks, his voice hoarse.

"I do," Ignis says softly, feeling tears slide down his face. "I remember."

"Oh man," Gladio says. "Don't cry, Ignis. Shit, Prompto. Stop, both of you. He wouldn't want this. Didn't we cry enough? Didn't we know this was coming?"

"So?" Prompto moans. "So what! He's gone, Gladio! So. What. We just got him back and he's gone! What else are we suppose to do? What else, Gladio? Tell me, and I'll do it!"

Gladio is silent for a moment, before letting out a long, pained sigh. "I don't know! Sitting around and crying wouldn't be it! He... he wouldn't want us to just cry. He would want us to... to..." Another shuttering sigh. "He would want us to live on. Find happiness."

"Without him?" Ignis says softly. "I don't know how I can."

There is a small squeaking noise. Normally, Prompto wouldn't be able to hear it over his heavy breathing and soft crying, but he started to settle down a bit, listening to Ignis and Gladio talk. But he definitely heard something.

"What..?" Prompto jumps to his feet. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Gladio asks.

"There was a noise," Ignis says, straightening up, having heard it too. "It's in front of us."

A small white creature jumps up onto the handle of the sword, staring down the blade at Noctis, large ears pushed back tightly.

"Noctis!" Comes a soft, airy voice. "Oh, no, Noctis!"

"Who's there?" Ignis asks, eyebrows pulling together.

"Some sort of creature is in front of Noctis!" Prompto says.

Gladio starts walking toward the creature. "And... I think that it's talking..."

"A monster?" Ignis asks, confused. "Talking?"

"I don't know..." Prompto says, circling around to get a good angle on the little white fox-like creature, still staring down at the unmoving prince. "Where did he come from?"

"Noctis!" The fox cries, walking carefully down the blade to Noctis, putting his front paw on the Prince's chest. "This isn't right, Noctis, this isn't right! You have to wake up now, Noctis! You have to wake up! We need you, Noctis! We need you!"

"Who're you?" Prompto asks, climbing up beside Noctis's throne, trying not to look at his best friend's face. His skin is a sickly gray color and his chin is nearly touching his chest.

The fox looks over at Prompto with large, brownish red eyes turn to Prompto's face. A small, red horn on it's forehead, glittering in the sunlight. "Prompto!" The fox says, his voice not coming out of his lips, but the red stone began to shine as he speaks. "Noctis won't wake up. He has to wake up. This isn't what I wanted. This isn't what was suppose to happen."

"What are you talking about?" Gladio asks, stepping up beside Prompto, casting a quick look at Noctis's face before looking away again.

"Noctis has to wake up!" The fox shakes it's head, ears pressed against it's skull. "Noctis is the True King! It wasn't suppose to be like this! You were suppose to bring back the light! You did! Now you have to rule your kingdom! Ardyn is done! Your battle is in eternity, not for it! Noctis!" The fox moans in pain. The fox leans the tip of it's horn against Noctis's forehead.

"What is it talking about?" Ignis asks.

The fox closes it's eyes tightly, horn glowing bright red. "Bahamut doesn't speak for everyone. Godly as he is, my god, he is not. You have to come back, Noctis!" A large, radiating red energy begins to pulsate from the small horn, growing more in intensity as time passes, until the building is actually starting to shake with the force of it's power. But the fox appears to be in pain, summoning up more and more power.

"Noctis..." the fox says mournfully. "Noctis..."

"Is... is it crying...?" Prompto asks, down on one knee, holding onto Ignis's shoulder to keep them both in place.

Gladio has his hand against the wall, eyes wide. He watches as the small creature bows more until it's own strength, horn glowing brighter. It's eyes are squeezed tightly shut, it's front paw back onto the edge of the sword, barely keeping balance. It's back is bent in such a way that it's hindquarters are in the air, it's chest is at the edge of the blade but it's forehead it toward Noctis. It's small horn light a miniature sun in the room.

"What are you talking about?" Prompto asks the little fox. "What do you mean? What's all this about Noctis? What are you trying to do?" He holds a hand in front of his eyes to block out the pulsating light.

"Noctis," the fox says sadly. "Noctis..."

The light from it's horn grows brighter and brighter until everyone in the room is blinded by a bright, crimson explosion where Noctis and the small fox creature once were, throwing all three men back across the room. Ignis, who actually saw the blast of bright red, blacked out almost immediately after his back, neck and shoulders hit the wall on the opposite side of the room from the throne, next to the door.

* * *

Prompto's ears are ringing as he slowly pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, head pounding. There is a bright flashing red light in the center of the room. Prompto gives his head a little shake before looking over and seeing Noctis floating in the center of the room, his father's sword is still plunged into the center of his chest. His arms are outstretched at his sides, head thrown back with his eyes and mouth open and bright crimson light blazing in both and his legs dangling uselessly beneath him.

The small fox creature floating in front of him, eyes and mouth open as well, with the blazing red from both and it's horn.

There is a bright pulsating light coming from directly beneath him: the crystal.

"Wha..?" Prompto gasps, blue eyes wide as he looks around the room. How did the crystal..? What happened to the... now immaculate throne room? What? Did that hit kill him? Is he out cold? What is going on?

Prompto looks around, his eyes landing on Ignis, who was slowly sitting up, rubbing roughly at his head, groaning in pain, until he looks up, opening his blue eyes - to see the throne room that he was in dozens of times in his youth. It was exactly as Ignis remembered, and Prompto could tell because his eyes flittered around, taking in every single detail, drinking it in like he was a thirsty man traveling through the dessert.

His sight... Ignis could see! The scars on his eyes were gone! His hair is shorter and not styled up in the way that Prompto was used to seeing him with. It was very... odd.

"Ugh," Gladio groans, climbing to his feet in Prompto's peripheral. "What the hell was that?"

"Gladio?" Prompto gasps. Shorter hair, long on top, shaved on the sides. His scars... not there? Even the one he got over his left eye that he got protect Noctis from a drunken civilian. This entire thing is absolutely crazy! What in the world is going on?

"What is going on in here?"

Prompto almost broke his neck twisting it around to look at the source of that voice and sees King Regis, in all of his glory, along with Cor and two other Kingsglaive come running into the room.

"You're majesty?" Ignis gasps, before twisting around to look at the floating figure in the center of the room, eyes widening in absolute horror. "Noct!"

Regis looks up at the glowing figure in the sky, his own eyes widening. "Noctis?" He looks down at the glowing Crystal in the center of the room, pulsating in power. There is a glowing blue light around King Regis as he draws closer, his power reacting in proximity to the Crystal. He sees the sword - his sword - in Noctis's chest, and the horror draws all the color from his chest. "Noctis!" He whips around, eyes locking with one of the Kingsglaive, who were shielding their eyes from the bright light. "Get doctors!"

He nods and races from the room.

The pulsating from the fox's horn and the Crystal sync up and the fox leans forward, touching it's horn to the handle of Regis's sword and a red energy shoots up the hilt, into the blade and into Noctis's body, making every vein in his body turn bright crimson and bulge out against his skin.

The fox falls almost immediately afterward, the power dying away. It hits the ground hard, bouncing twice before falling completely still, it's horn turning clear white. The crimson light fades from Noctis's body and the Crystal directly beneath him, as he begins to lower slowly to the ground in front of his father. His feet touch the ground softly, then his knees and he sits on his legs, eyes and mouth closed, arms loose at his side. His skin in pale and gray, discolored and lifeless.

The lights fades from the room and everything grows completely silent.

Noctis looks haunting. He looks dead. Not peaceful or okay. He looks completely lifeless. Yet somehow he's sitting upright, even though he's not even breathing. Then, he sways, and falls over to the side, not making a single noise as his shoulder hits the ground, blood splashing around him, freshly bleeding once more as Noctis takes a gasping, wheezing breath, eyes fluttering open.

"Noct!" Ignis breaks into a sprint across the room.

"Noctis!" Prompto and Galdio run right after him as King Regis drops down next to his son, hands shaking as he reaches out and gently touches his son's face, looking around at the sword - his - still sticking from his chest.

"Gladio!" Cor snaps, making the younger man freeze. "We have to try and slow down the bleeding!"

Gladio stares down at the sword in his chest, with wide eyes, not sure that would do any good. Noctis was bleeding out quickly. He was going to die - again. How did he even come back in the first place.

"Gladiolus!" Cor snaps, making Gladio jump, looking up at the older man. "Do you want him to die?"

"No," Gladio says, eyebrows pulling together.

"Then help me save his life," Cor commands, nudging Prompto to the side and lowers down, pulling off his jacket to press around his wound. Gladio moves to help, pushing Ignis away. Prompto slowly picks up the small white fox creature, feeling it shaking terribly in his arms and hugs it to him. He doesn't know what's going on. How they got here. What's happening. But he did understand one thing: this little fox creature saved Noctis's life.

At least for now.


	2. Slumber

**Author's Note: I am so sorry by the long wait! I love hearing from you guys, it really spurs me on. My first update of 2018! I hope that everyone had a great 2017 and an even more wonderful new year to come! Let me know what you think! Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

 **Warnings: A bit of gore, talk about death, OOCness and unbeta'd.**

 **Word Count: 4,737**

 _"Pampered Prince."_

 _Noctis opens his eyes slowly, feeling the warmth of the sun beating down on his neck and face. He is lulled by the feeling of the wind blowing over the windshield of the Regalia and over his face. The sun beating down while his hair is ruffled by the cool wind was a very relaxing feeling. No one can blame him for falling asleep. It was comforting._

 _"What?" Noctis murmurs, looking over at the man next to him, that was grinning playfully._

 _"I'm just saying, you're a pampered prince," Gladio says, still grinning._

 _Noctis sighs, rubbing his face tiredly. "Well, sorry. It's really relaxing here. I don't know how you can't fall asleep."_

 _He looks forward, seeing Prompto turned around in his seat, camera held up toward his face. Either he was about to take a picture, or had just finished when the young prince looked over at him. Prompto lowers the camera a bit to grin back at his best friend._

 _"Do you mind?" He holds up the camera a bit._

 _Noctis shakes his head. "It's your camera, take pictures of whatever you like." He stretches his legs out as far as he can with Ignis's seat right in front of him, listening to his bones creak and crack until he's satisfied. He relaxes into the plush leather of the seats, running his fingers through his hair for a moment, before glancing over at Prompto again to see the blond take a picture of him._

 _"You take a lot of pictures of me," Noctis notes, scratching at his scalp a bit._

 _"I take a lot of pictures of everyone," Prompto defends himself, but he holds out the camera for Noctis to take._

 _The Prince reaches out with his unoccupied right hand to take the camera and turns it around so that he and Gladio can look at the picture taken. It was a nice one. Noctis was looking right at the camera, one hand in his hair, the other on his lap while Gladio was right next to him, grinning, almost to himself with his arms relaxed behind his head. They both looked very relaxed._

 _"Oh, that's a good one," Gladio says, nudging Noctis's arm._

 _"Yeah," Noctis agrees. "You're getting really good at this Prompto."_

 _The blond grins brightly in return at his best friend. "Thanks, Noct. I really do enjoy taking pictures. That's for letting me bring it on our journey."_

 _Noctis shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly in return, cycling through a few more of the pictures that the other boy has taken so far in their adventure. All of them are good. Shots in battle. Shots around a campfire. Shots while on the road, whether they are driving or walking to get some exercise. They all looked pretty good. Noctis was no professional photographer, but he liked all of them_

 _"It's not a problem, Prompto, I like them. It's a good way to remember our time together," Noctis says, holding the camera back out toward his friend. Prompto took the camera, smiling happily down at it._

 _"I like them too," he says. The blond smiles down at his camera, happily, before turning back around to the view in front of him. He pauses for a moment before looking at the world around them through the viewfinder._

 _If only those simple moments could last forever. Where they lived in bliss of the death of the King and the fall of Insomnia and the rise of the Empire. Where they knew nothing about the hardships that Noctis would go through and the impending death of both he and Lunafreya. Where they were just a couple guys living up to the new tradition that his father started before he became King._

 _When everything didn't feel like desperately living from one moment to the next. Or the impending doom that would settle over the world for a least ten years to come._

* * *

It's all a blur of motion after that. Doctors came running into the room, crowding around the unmoving Prince, yelling out orders to one another. Obviously, no one knew what to do right away. How did this happen? Who had attacked the Prince? Why was he impaled on the King's sword? What was going on? But no one could really ask anything, there wasn't time. Noctis was bleeding out.

Noctis's face is gray, the smooth skin around his skin a sickening dark gray. He looks haunting. Worse than when he was dead.

"Noct..." Gladio whispers, looking down at his Prince, his friend.

"We have to remove the K-" one the doctor stops, quickly shifting what he was going to say, "the _sword_ from the Prince's gut."

One of the other doctors shoots him a dirty look. "The Prince would bleed out in moments. We have to get him into a sterile, controlled environment."

"And then what?" the first asks, incredulous. "Pull the sword out? I wasn't saying we do it here. We have to move him and remove the sword."

The two doctors stare at each other, before nodding. Arguing wouldn't be nearly as fun if the Prince died because of it and the King had a front row seat to their bickering. The prince was already very unlikely to survive, any single moment wasted on bickering about something that they ultimately agree on was more than likely going to get them into trouble that somehow helps the situation.

Noctis's pale white lips start moving as his eyes open, rolling around in his head, delirious from blood loss and pain. His eyelids flutter open and closed as he looks around, unseeing. The male nurses there to help, load him onto a stretcher, slowly and carefully, ignoring everything else around them but the task at hand. It wasn't going to be their fault the Prince died. No way.

"What's he saying?" One of the nurses asks.

The other one leans in, listening closely to the Prince mumbling under his breath before pulling back, looking confused and a bit sad. He looks over at the King, as if not sure if he should say it aloud or not.

"What is it?" the other nurse asks.

"He... said, 'trust me, dad, trust me'," the nurse says quietly, before reaching down to pick up the stretcher the Prince is on. "We have to go now. Come on." The other nurse nods slowly, moving to the other side and lifting him up. The two doctors hurry alongside them, barking orders into their phones. Cor is up and after them, yelling for Gladio to remain there, he was going to clear the way so no one dared slow the doctors down for a moment on their way to the medical wing of the palace.

They are left in the most painful, and tense, silence that any of them have ever taken part in. Everyone's heads are spinning. The three remaining time travelers couldn't wrap their minds around how they could possibly be there now. The King was there, they were in the Palace chambers in Insomnia. It's obvious that they are younger. How did this all happen?

Noctis died. He sacrificed himself to bring back the light. And he did. He brought it back.

And then he brought them back? Like, in time? How?

Prompto looks down at the little white fox-like creature in his arms, unable to figure out what this creature was and how it played into everything. He had to wonder if he's seen this little monster somewhere before, but he wasn't sure that he had. It knew him, though. It said his name, somehow. And Noctis's. Prompto's head is spinning. He's not sure what's going on, but this little fox-thing is definitely somehow the cause of them being... brought back in time?

"What happened?"

King Regis's voice is soft but angry. In the silence of the room around them, he could be yelling at them and they wouldn't have flinched any less. Prompto looks up from the small fox to the King, blue eyes wavering through long, light lashes.

"Your majesty..." Ignis says, softly, looking at the man that practically raised him, as if seeing him for the first time. He tries to commit the older man to memory, like his sight could go at any moment.

"Ignis," King Regis says, looking at the dirty blond-haired young man, "what happened?"

The young attendant opens his mouth, about to speak, when no noise comes out. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to say what happened. He's not even sure how they are even here. They are no doubt back in time, but how they got there, and why, alludes him. Keeping in mind that the last ten years of his life has been blind, he's not sure he knows how to correctly articulate what happened.

"I don't know what to say..." Ignis finally admits, still looking around, trying to get used to his sight once more. His _sight is back._

"What happened, Ignis?" Regis demands, narrowing his eyes. "Why does my son have a sword impaled through his chest?"

Ignis blinks a few times, not knowing what to say. The truth didn't seem very believable. He's not even sure he knows what the truth is anymore. They lived through all of that, didn't they? Of course! That was too real - all of it - to be a shared dream. The good and bad times. The pain and the happiness. The rain and sunshine on their skin. The revelations and the questions. It had to be all real. Ignis wouldn't be able to understand - or accept - it any other way.

His eyebrows pull together as he looks into the angry, confused eyes of his King, desperate to understand what sort of events led up to that horrible scene before him just a few minutes before this. Maybe Ignis grew as a young man into an adult in the span of their trip outside of Insomnia all the way until they returned ten years later to watch Noctis die and fulfill his duty as King.

Or what destiny says his duty as King is.

Ignis didn't believe for a moment that the only real thing that Noctis was to do as King was to die. He knew that Noctis would make an amazing King with all of his heart. Watching him on their journey as they all changed and grew into the people that they would become, didn't shake Ignis's faith in his future King dor a single moment. And then, when they returned to Insomnia and Noctis took his place on the throne - even if Ignis couldn't see it with his eyes, he could with his heart - Ignis knew that, had his fate been different, Noctis wouldn't have been a good King. Or a great King. He would have been the absolute best King he could be.

But being ten years older - or more? - in his heart, and looking into the eyes of his King, Ignis knew he had to tell him the truth. Regardless of what Noctis felt at the moment, or thought about his father during their time together, at the very end of the day, they loved each other. Noctis loved and respected his father, and Regis loved and respected his son.

Their relationship was strained because of all of the things going on with the Empire and the King just trying to keep Noctis safe from both that and, admittedly, the young Prince's destiny, that it created distance between them. It still makes Ignis sad to think about, the last thing they really said to each other was really nothing at all. There was so much that was left unsaid, even if the last thing they said to each other was goodbye, there was still just so much _more_ that was needed. Yet it wasn't.

Maybe they will get that chance now. Ignis can only hope, at least.

"What happened..?" Ignis says, casting a sideways glance at Gladio, who was staring back at him. A shining and powerful Kingsglaive. And then to Prompto, who was looking between them and the small fox creature in his arms. A student, young with a bright and promising future, shrouded by a dark and mysterious past.

Was there really a way to explain how it all came to what they know it to be? It was really hard to think of where to start, but Ignis figured there was probably only one good place to really start. He just hoped that he would be able to explain it properly.

"It all started when we left Insomnia to go on our adventure..."

* * *

Regis's head is spinning as he stares in at his sleeping son, face drained of all color leaving only this terrible gray pallor in its wake. His son was so small in that bed, bringing Regis back to when Noctis was just a little boy. He was traumatized by the Marilith when it killed the woman that Regis left in charge of Noctis's care. So traumatized that he fell into a deep slumber that he managed to pull himself out of after a few days, but this was so much different. Noctis was so small, so delicate then, but somehow, Regis knew he would survive. He would be stronger somehow.

Keeping in mind, what he knows now, he's not so sure. Not because he doesn't believe in Noctis, but he looks so weak and delicate now as an adult - or at least, more of an adult than Regis remembers him looking that morning - than when he was an eight year old boy.

Noctis had been in surgery for hours. More hours than Regis cared to remember. The long story that Ignis felt like a dream told by someone else. Had he not known Ignis the way he did, he might have thought the boy was lying to him to somehow cover up whatever wrongdoing they were up to moments leading to the brutal stabbing of his son.

But this is Ignis. This is the young man he's raised since he was a small boy. Noctis was so important to Ignis. _So important_ to him. Regis knew, as Ignis was retelling this story with vivid, crazy specific details, that he was telling the truth. Even Gladio and the blond haired boy, Prompto - if Regis recalled from having met Noctis's school friend once or twice before - hardly spoke. They only nodded their heads in agreement or spoke up to correct Ignis's memory or supply something they thought was important that he accidentally left out.

Another part of Regis wanted to believe that this story was some kind of shared deluded fantasy of theirs but there was too much about it that made sense. Too much that they told him that they couldn't have known. They knew about the Crystal. They knew about the rising threat of the Empire. They knew about Notcis's ultimate fate.

There is no way they could have known that. Regis never told another soul what he learned about his son's fate. Regis has spent almost all of Noctis's life running from the terrible future that awaits his son. It's both terrible and heartbreaking to learn that Noctis ran headfirst to his death with pride. He stood before the fates and obeyed. He was the True King meant to bring back the light.

Regis didn't understand what that means when he learned about it, but Ignis's story made it all make sense.

At the end of the story, Gladio and Prompto had to really tell the story, as Ignis lost his sight and a lot of what he had to say was what he heard and speculation, so they helped fill in the holes a bit. Which brought them all the way to Noctis's death. How he sat upon Regis's throne with Regis's sword through his chest and died with a smile on his face.

That sent a tremor of fear down his spine and a stab of agony in his stomach and heart.

He always wanted Noctis's fate to be different. He wanted to ensure that his son wouldn't have to ultimately sacrifice himself in such a way. He wanted to Noctis to become a good, wise King who was beloved and strong. He wanted his son to marry and have children of his own who would grow up in their peaceful Kingdom. He wanted his son's life to be as easy as humanly possible.

But it wasn't. He failed Noctis. All his plans and preparation has been for naught. Noctis would still die. His body may have been about thirty years old, but his mind was only twenty.

That hurts Regis in ways he will never be able to explain to anyone else. He's tried so desperately to protect Noctis from this that he forces his son to face this all alone. Without any warning or preparation. Perhaps that is truly worse fate than what Regis was trying to prevent. He probably hurt Noctis more than helped him in this entire situation.

Everything that Regis did was for naught.

Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis stood by his side, looking in on his son with him. None of them spoke for hours, just standing there, looking in on Noctis's unconscious form in that small hospital bed. He looks so weak and frail. His face has no color other than the pits of darkness around his eyes. They are pumping him full of blood to make up for all that he lost. He wasn't to be left alone for a moment. He was, by no means, stable. His life was very much in danger and no one was going to be the one responsible for the Prince dying.

They... returned Regis's sword to him.

It brought him such agony when he saw it, he simply sent it away without so much as a second thought. That sword - his sword - was the killing shot for his son. It was Regis's sword that helped Noctis realize his destiny.

In Prompto's arms is the small fox creature. He hasn't let it go since he picked it up. No one seems to have offered it a lot of attention but Prompto know that it has something to do with Noctis coming back to life and the rest of them going back in time. He's going to keep it close, and safe, until the shock wears off and they are able to figure out what to do with it and about this situation.

Prompto isn't surprised by the King's relatively calm reaction. It was a lot to take in and coupling that with his obvious concern for Noctis's life, it's no wonder that the only thing anyone can think about doing is looking in on Noctis and hoping with all their hearts that he manages to pull himself back from the obvious brink of death that he was perched on.

None of them really know how to move forward at this moment, but if Noctis doesn't survive, will it really matter?

* * *

Noctis dreams. He did it a lot, and not at all while he was in the Crystal's care. Everything, dreams and time, was fluid to him. It all ran together. It was hard to tell what was dreams and what was memories of reality. Noctis isn't sure if he's bothered one way or the other, but he was happy to be dreaming once more. It was peaceful and without pain.

He's not sure he would dream after he died, but his father was there. He faintly remembers it. His friends - his best friends - were there too. He remembers hearing them call out to him. He was hoping that life was fluid after death, that it feels like no time has passed Noctis in the afterlife, but an entire lifetime, seventy years has passed in the world of the living. If his friends were there with him, he hoped that it would be an entire lifetime for them. He hoped that they lived long, fruitful lives. Fell in love, had some kids and died at a hundred years old happy and surrounded by family.

His best friends deserved that much. Every precious second back in the light. It all belonged to them.

Admittedly, while Noctis wanted to bring the light back to the people of the world, as it was his job for his Kingdom, he mostly did it for his friends. He wanted them - in specific - to live in the light. They earned it. They fought alongside Noctis every step of the way, and when he left them, they continued to fight, holding onto hope that he would one day return to them and help bring the war to an end. They believed in him, they always did. They never lost faith in him, not really and not fully, up until the end.

They didn't let him walk the final mile on his own. They stood by his side and walked it with him. They had no way of knowing if he would be successful or if what he thought would happen, would. They followed him on blind faith, somehow none of them have spoken to for ten years.

They will never be able to understand how much that meant to him.

And before he got the chance to tell him, they vanished into a flurry of memories and dreams. Some were as an adult, going through his journey with his friends, some things were the same, the adventures, some were different. Different people, different places, different results.

Some were memories of his childhood. Going to meet Lunafreya. Going to school. Meeting Prompto. Befriending Iris and going on baby adventures with her before Gladio caught them and they got in trouble. Many times of sitting at the table in his apartment outside of the castle eating some of Ignis's delicious food or playing random games with Prompto on their gaming systems. As odd as it was, in how flippant Prompto's personality was about most things, he was always adamant about going for runs every morning.

Sometimes, Noctis would join him, if he could pull himself out of bed. Noctis did enjoy every moment he could be sleeping. One of the few things he was never iffy about. He would take a nap whenever he could.

Prompto was very self-conscious of his weight. He thought he had to lose it all in order to be liked by Noctis. He thought he had to be stylish and thin to be able to stand near Noctis. But the pampered prince never cared about that. He liked Prompto for who he was. For himself as a person. In fact, if anything, he wasn't really a fan of the self-conscious attitude of Prompto's. Prompto shouldn't care about how people view him, not even Noctis. If he chose to lose all that weight because he was unhappy in his skin, Noctis would be behind him one hundred percent.

While it started out that way, now that they are friends - absolute best friends - it has turned into being more about himself. He likes how working out, going for runs make him feel. He likes eating a bit healthier and being more active. It may have started out about Noctis and his approval, but now its more about how Prompto feels and how he is.

Noctis will accept that.

But he dreams of good, and bad. But so long as his important friends got to live, he'll be okay with that.

* * *

Noctis must have opened his eyes a few times, each with a different blurry image to greet him. Sometimes it was of Prompto, leaning over him with something small and white in his arms. Sometimes it was Gladio passing back and forth at the foot of his bed. Sometimes it was Ignis reading a book beside him, or just staring down at the stark white sheet laying over Noctis, deep in thought. Sometimes - more than not - it was his father, sitting at his side, holding his hand with his head bowed low, shoulders slumped carrying the sins of his actions. Of the destiny, he brought upon his son.

It was probably around the twentieth time of him waking up only a third of the way lucid that he wondered if maybe he wasn't dead. That the groans of agony that escaped him without his permission from a molten lava pooled in his chest and gut were too much to bear, yet somehow so distant in his mind that his body was aware of it but his heart and mind were not.

He's not sure about the whys and hows behind it all, but he's become more and more certain that he's alive as the number of times he awakens from his dreams and gentle memories to the cruel bite of reality increases. Sometimes he's awake for a few seconds. Sometimes he registers that he has been staring into the darkness of a hospital room for almost an entire minute before he falls back into slumber. And sometimes he awakens with such clarity filled with the agony of the pain in his chest and gut that it takes him almost immediately afterward.

One time, though, that Noctis opens his bleary eyes, he feels his consciousness return to him pretty wholly. He blinks a few times, noting how dark it is outside the window with the curtains open just enough to let a sliver of moonlight into the room. His eyes feel crusty like dried tears have sealed his lids together in his presumable days in agony.

He feels stiff and the pain flares when he tries to adjust himself from where he's laying on the bed. He has to gingerly rest against it once more to not aggravate them anymore. He closes his eyes and roughly rubs at them, trying to wipe away both the crust and the sleep, but he barely has the strength in his hands to make a proper first out of them. He does manage to rub his eyes free with his knuckles before lowering them to his sides and opening his eyes once more, giving the spots a few moments to disappear before the dark hospital room comes into view.

There is a stand next to his bed about level with the sheets with a large, fluffy dark pillow in which a very familiar little fox lays perched on, curled up nice and neatly. Its small horn that Noctis vaguely remembers to be an extremely deep crimson color is a pale pink color. Perhaps it is the moonlight that makes it look like that, but his little eyes are screwed closed so tight, he appears peaceful.

His lips part, but only a harsh whisper comes out. No words, just a sound. It's quiet, even in the silence of the room. So he reaches out gently and touches to back of the small fox, feeling it's long, soft fur beneath his fingertips as he mouths its name. The name he gave it in his childhood.

Carbuncle.

He feels his back slowly rise as he breaths in his slumber. Slowly, carefully, he pulls the fox onto his hand. It doesn't stir even in the slightest at the treatment, even when Noctis almost dropped him. Still, Carbuncle didn't stir. He brings the fox to him and pulls the covers up to his clavicle before lowering the fox onto his chest, it's weight is nothing but a gentle pressure. Reassuring that he's alive now. He places his on the fox's back to ensure he doesn't fall off before closing his eyes and slips back into slumber.

This time, dreamlessly.

 **For the Reviewers:**

 **1\. Beta117: Yeah, basically. Thank you! XD**

 **2\. SecretEngima: I know! I need a bit of positive and living Noctis in my life! Aww, you are way too sweet! Thank you for your kind words! I hope I don't end up disappointing you. I am sorry for the wait!**

 **3\. Fai: Thank you! I hope that you continue to enjoy it!**


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